the wind but helped Bagg along.

"I got t' 'urry up," thought he.

The boy looked behind. Ruddy Cove was within sight. He was surprised
that the coast was still so near.

"Got t' 'urry up a bit more," he determined.

He was elated--highly elated. He thought that his old home was but a
night's journey distant; at most, not more than a night and a day, and
he had more than food enough in his pockets to last through that. He
was elated; but from time to time a certain regret entered in, and it
was not easily cast out. He remembered the touch of Aunt Ruth's lips,
and her arm, which had often stolen about him in the dusk; and he
remembered that Uncle Ezekiel had beamed upon him most affectionately,
in times of mischief and good works alike. He had been well loved in
Ruddy Cove.

"Wisht I'd told Aunt Ruth," Bagg thought.

On he trudged--straight out to sea.

"Got t' 'urry up," thought he.

Again the affection of Aunt Ruth occurred to him. She had been very
kind; and as for Uncle 'Zeke--why, nobody could have been kinder.

"Wisht I _'ad_ told Aunt Ruth," Bagg regretted. "Might o' said
good-bye anyhow."

The ice was now drifting out; but the wind had not yet risen to that
measure of strength wherewith it tears the pack to pieces, nor had the
sea attacked it. There was a gap of two hundred yards between the
coast rocks and the edge of the ice, but that was far, far back, and
hidden from sight. The pack was drifting slowly, smoothly, still in
one compact mass. Its motion was not felt by Bagg, who pressed
steadily on toward England, eager again, but fast growing weary.

"Got t' 'urry up," thought he.

But presently he must rest; and while he rested the wind gathered
strength. It went singing over the pack, pressing ever with a stronger
hand upon its dumpers and ridges--pushing it, everywhere, faster and
faster out to sea. The pack was on the point of breaking in pieces
under the strain, but the wind still fell short of the power to rend
it. There was a greater volume of snow falling; it was driven past in
thin, swirling clouds. Hence the light of the moon began to fail. Far
away, at the rim of the pack, the sea was eating its way in, but the
swish and crash of its work was too far distant to be heard.

"I ain't nothink t' nobody but Aunt Ruth," Bagg thought, as he rose to
continue the tramp.

On he went, the wind lending him wings; but at last his legs gave out
at the knees, and he sat down again to rest. This wa